"Mikhail Evstafiev. Two Steps From Heaven " - читать интересную книгу автора

left arm.

.... must be Zhenka's replacement at last ....

Sharagin unlocked the Chinese padlock which hung on two bent nails
after they had lost the only key to the dead lock on the door and stepped
into the tiny entry hall. He leaned his rifle against the wall, dropped his
rucksack on the floor, gave a tired yank at his bootlaces, too lazy to undo
them completely, and got his boots off by pushing the heel of one with the
toe of the other foot. He flung back the curtain separating the entrance,
and stepped into the main room. The platoon leaders and sergeant lived here,
surrounded by family photographs and cuttings out of the "Ogonyok" magazine
pinned to the walls. Standard iron bunks lined the walls, and a doorless
clothes cupboard leaned crookedly. A heating pipe ran under the window with
a thin, flat radiator which leaked frequently and was therefore rusted
through. Wooden pegs were stuck into the radiator here and there, where the
leaks were strongest. They all froze in winter, wrapped themselves in their
greatcoats. Home-made heaters made no difference. A lone, naked light bulb
hung from the ceiling. Greatcoats hung on nails hammered into the walls. A
twin-cassette player stood on the table, surrounded by old newspapers and an
ashtray made out of half of a can of imported "Si-Si" soda.

... towel, soap, clean underwear...that's all ...

The burner by the bath-house was silent, cooling down.

... too damn late...

Usually the gas burner hissed, throwing out a tongue of flame, heating
up the steam room. Sharagin threw off his stiff uniform and underwear, which
stank of sweat and diesel and which he had not changed for some time, and
his socks which had a big hole on one toe and also smelled terrible and
stuck to his road-weary feet. He did not throw away the socks, but washed
them with the rest of his clothing. The trickle of water from the shower was
lukewarm, but he gloried in it nonetheless. He stood under it for at least
five minutes as if trying to soak himself through and through, rubbing his
body briskly with a sponge to get rid of the accumulated dirt,
simultaneously shedding the fatigue and nervousness brought on by combat,
washed his cropped hair.

... maybe I should shave my head bald once more? No, once was enough
...


He scraped his cheeks under the now cold shower, swore at the cheap
blade which lost its edge straight after contact with the stubble of many
days.

... the unit had not noticed the loss of a soldier ... they had not
even had time to deal with the enemy properly ... this particular lot of